Not on the Plane, Please

You can’t control if you have gas (for the most part) but you can control where you let it out. Why do people think that it’s okay to expel gas on the airplane? It’s not fair to the rest of us: held captive by the noxious fumes, tense and irritated, waiting for the next waft of evilness to interrupt our meal, drink, or movie. Why is this OK? Go to the bathroom and let it all out. The nuclear fumes from the blue toilet bowl water will cover up any unpleasant smell. Better yet wait until the plane lands and do a drive-by in the terminal. At least people will have the opportunity to seek fresher air.

Anyone who has flown has experienced this. It’s horrible. The person who does it always is the one sitting still, eyes fixed forward, while the rest of us stare one another down attempting to extract a confession through an accusatory look. The only thing to do is make a loud “Ugh!” sound, or proclaim: “Not again.”

Two of my friends recently encountered this situation on a long flight. Not ones to sit by allowing the flatulence of another to interrupt their journey, they took turns stating loudly: “We can smell that. Please stop. It’s very rude.” Apparently it worked because the offender miraculously controlled himself, or he was just out of gas.

If you are this person please stop. It’s rude and inconsiderate. The people around you likely know that it’s you even though you probably don’t care because you’ll never see anyone again but is it really worth it to ruin someone’s flight? What if the business meeting that you are flying to happens to include your seatmates (this is the revenge scenario your captives on the plane envision)? The scene goes something like this: You’ve made it to your meeting and are seated at the conference table. You recognize the gentlemen getting coffee but can’t quite place the faces. Then it hits you: these are the two guys sitting next to you on your flight. You hope they don’t recognize you and tentatively nod in their direction. They return the nod and then choose seats at the opposite end of the table. You’re busted.

For the rest of us I propose following my friends’ lead and calling out the tooters on the plane. Everyone will be happy that you did. Well, almost everyone.